


wins

by arexnna



Series: lost stars [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, The Enchanted Forest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-27 07:49:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2684963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arexnna/pseuds/arexnna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a one-shot for after Killian knocks himself out in ep 3x22</p>
            </blockquote>





	wins

She feels the moment things change between them. Since they left his ship, past self knocked unconscious, the tension is thick in the air around them.

He walks a distance ahead of her, and she can’t find it in herself to chase after him (like he’s done for her so many times before), her mind convincing her that he needs space.

When they find a clearing, he drops their belongings down, murmuring for her to stay here while he finds some firewood. She nods quietly, thinking it best not to argue with him.

He comes back after five minutes, though without him there, it felt like she was waiting for hours on end. He does it wordlessly, placing the wood carelessly down, before going off to try and light it. He’s unable to start a fire, and it’s obvious he’s beginning to get frustrated, yet because of his stubbornness, he persists; the only sound of complaint coming from him is the tsk of annoyance.

“Here,” she says, approaching him from the log she patiently sits on, “Let me.”

He tries one more time before giving in, moving aside for her to try. His back slump in defeat as he makes his way to the log she was perched on.

Apparently, like the rest of the things in movies, starting a fire isn’t as easy as they make it out to seem. The best she gets is a tiny spark, and for a moment she jumps with excitement, but the moment passes and she stares at the dull wood angrily.

(It’s times like these where she wishes she still had her magic, she didn’t realize how useful her powers were until they were taken away, but she doesn’t regret giving her powers up for him. Not one bit.)

(And it’s times like these where she thinks of the insecurity he masks with a smile when he says ‘ _Given our history, can you blame me for being uncertain_ ’ and she wants to  _hit_ him – as if she could ever just let  _him_ die.)

“Stop, lass,” he’s suddenly next to her, putting his hand on hers, and she realizes she’s been furiously trying to light the fire while being consumed by her thoughts. “We’ll just have to deal with the cold tonight.”

“What fun,” she says mockingly, but apparently he’s not in the mood for sarcasm, giving her a tight-lipped smile.

They both settle themselves down, using their leather jackets to cushion their heads from the hard forest ground. He lays himself down quite a distance away from her, his back facing hers, and she’d be lying if she said she’s not disappointed that he didn’t try sleep closer to her ( _God, she’s such an idiot_ ).

There’s a gush of cool night breeze and she shivers, letting out an uncontrolled _‘Fuuuck’_ as the air grazes her skin. He must’ve felt it too because she hears the rustling sounds of his movements behind her.

A sudden warmth surrounds her, and her brain takes a moment to process that it’s his leather jacket that’s the source of the heat. She lets herself bask in his coat for a minute, appreciating the warmness it brings, before rolling around to see him using his arm in replacement of his makeshift leather pillow.

He doesn’t even look like he’s trying to sleep; instead, he stares up into the night sky, looking at the white dots that represent stars.

“Your back’s going to hurt, your arm’s going to be numb and you’ll catch a cold,” she lists the possible outcomes of his gesture.

He sighs. “I’ve slept in worse positions, I have two more layers of clothes and it’ll just be another bit of my arm that I can’t feel,” he retorts, his eyes still staring upwards to the sky instead of at her.

His answer catches her off guard and she doesn’t say anything, remaining silent and allowing him to take her line.

“Honestly, lass – I’ve had colder nights. Keep the coat.”

She wants to argue, but she’s almost a hundred percent sure that’ll set him off even more, so she nods, and whether or not he sees it, she closes her eyes and accepts the little bit of ( _literal_ ) comfort he offers her.

(If asked, she won’t admit just how good his coat feels around her – the combination of smells of rum and ocean salt, just says him and she pulls the coat a little tighter around her small frame, letting the smell of him envelop her into sleep)

-/-

She awakes awhile later – whether it’s been an hour, two or four, she doesn’t know – the only thing she knows is that it’s still dark and there’s still awhile till dawn breaks.

She can make out the black silhouette of Killian’s body, curled in a ball in an attempt to fight the cold. She can feel the guilt growing in the pit of her stomach, because even when mad, he’s such a fucking gentleman.

Emma moves slowly towards him, dragging along her pillow and parking it next to his head. She throws his coat around them (and it’s not a  _huge_ coat, so she’s placed  _pretty_ close to him). She does it cautiously, opening her jacket up a fold, and lifting his head carefully off the ground before sliding it beneath his head.

Lying down beside him, she feels his body relax, subconsciously opening up from his fetal position. And then he tenses, a jolt of muscles moving surprising her.

“What are you doing?” his voice is rough and thick with sleep, and she doesn’t miss the way he stretches his neck to sooth the stiffness in it.

“You were cold—“

“I told you—“

“—and before you argue with me, your coat is big enough for the both of us to share – so don’t be an ass and just  _share_.”

That seems to do it. He furrows his eyebrows in an act of stubbornness before giving her a curt nod and turning on his side, his back facing her once more.

She sighs defeatedly, but you can’t win at everything.

-/-

The feel of the warm rays of the sun on her skin is what wakes her up.

Killian’s not awake yet, and his first hours of the night are reason enough. She doesn’t want to get up yet, the ground surprisingly more comfortable than it was when she first laid down the night before and it’s only when her mind fully wakes up when she realizes why.

Her leather jacket’s all but forgotten. Instead, she uses the crook between his neck and shoulder as her pillow. Her arm is draped across his stomach, his goes around her in a similar gesture; hand perched softly above her waist.

She doesn’t have it in her to move or wake him up, reasons unknown (it could be because he looks so peaceful or because she’s selfish and it’s too damn comfortable lying here in his arms, but who’s to know the real reason?).

In the end, she doesn’t do anything, letting herself live in this moment for a while longer before God knows what happens next.

(It’s moments like these – moments with  _him_  – where she reconsiders the whole  _New York_ plan, allowing herself to think of a future in Storybrooke with everyone – with him (‘ _A good one’_ ) – but as always, it’s just wishful thinking. Good things never do work out for her, and just like the times before, she throws the thought in the back of her mind)

(But she’d be lying if she said the visions of  _him_  and  _her_  and  _happiness_ don’t sneak out from time to time)

-/-

When they finally do get up, disentangling themselves from each other, she tries not to blush at the awkwardness in his motions. His cheeks are flushed and he avoids looking at her, mumbling their plans for the day while he scratches his ear and shuffles on his feet like a nervous schoolboy.

She might not have won all of last night, but she starts the day off with a solid win.

-/-


End file.
